


i think it must be heaven

by vorokis



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Making Out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-12-01 20:01:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20883215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vorokis/pseuds/vorokis
Summary: They’d showered together the night of their return to the human world, tired bodies moving slow, careful, holding each other up under the sorely welcome spray of hot water. They’d kissed just as slow and careful, meeting in the middle in unspoken agreement, falling easily into a play of lips, and the kiss had tasted of inevitability to Dante, like their whole lives had been a journey back to each other all along.





	i think it must be heaven

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文-普通话 國語 available: [此间便是天堂](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21095318) by [Gloria_77](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gloria_77/pseuds/Gloria_77)

> JUST SHAMELESS FLOOFY FLOOF HERE as a birfday gift for beloved Mof, whose floofy heart asked for...sleepy cuddles...and I'm giving her...shower make-outs instead. In my defence, it's inspired by her gorgeous art of the twins [here](https://twitter.com/zmea_art/status/1178068064195268614). 
> 
> Title from "Superhuman Touch" by Athlete. Enjoy!

They’d showered together the night of their return to the human world, tired bodies moving slow, careful, holding each other up under the sorely welcome spray of hot water. They’d kissed just as slow and careful, meeting in the middle in unspoken agreement, falling easily into a play of lips, and the kiss had tasted of inevitability to Dante, like their whole lives had been a journey back to each other all along. 

The following night, when Dante stepped into the shower again, the glass door had opened a second time not too soon after. “In the interest of water conservation,” Vergil had said in a too dignified tone, the line of his mouth straight, the amusement all in his gleaming eyes. He’d slid his arms around Dante's waist and Dante had laughed, leaned in, met Vergil in the middle for another taste of inevitability. 

He leans in now, too, so many weeks and so many indelible shared moments later, as water cascades over their skin once more, steam coiled thick in the air, cocooning them in the misty walls of a world all their own. 

Gently, Dante strokes his thumb over the skin behind the curve of Vergil’s ear. He hums, pleased, into the lock of their mouths, his veins crackling with quiet desire, banked embers. His thoughts are vapor he can’t hope to hold onto. “Water’s gonna go cold,” he mumbles in the small spaces between each idle drifting from kiss to drawn-out kiss. 

“Let it,” Vergil replies, “I’m more than enough to keep you warm,” and his voice is low and sleek beneath the loud pelting of the water, the timbre of it changed into a more caressing rumble—a private voice that belongs solely to these private moments between them. 

Dante grins. "_Smooth_. Someone's been practicing their lines." 

"Careful," Vergil warns with a little nip to Dante's bottom lip, "or I'll leave you to freeze, after all." 

"And here I was starting to think you were a real gentleman, Verge," Dante says, but at the gently coaxing brush of his brother’s tongue, he concedes easily, opening up with a small sigh, meeting the nothingness of water and the mint beyond Vergil’s lips. 

Out of everything, it’s this that Dante likes best. The feel of Vergil strong, solid, satin-skinned in his arms—something returned to where it belongs—and this uncomplicated intimacy they’ve been carefully allowing themselves, feeling out the vastness of its landscape with languid kisses and undemanding hands. There's no warring between them here. No restless pushing and pulling under the savage tide of their half-demonic blood. It's just them: unvarnished, uncovered, communicating what’s otherwise incommunicable.

They're pressed tight together from chest to hip, nothing urgent about it or reaching for anything more than the simplicity of bare skin against bare skin. Vergil’s hands intermittently slip up and down Dante’s back, treading familiar paths, no part of Dante’s body a secret now to him. It's only right, Dante thinks. If there’s anyone who should know him from skin to bone to soul, it’s only right that it’s Vergil, who is other half and home. 

They meander sometimes, Vergil’s teeth tugging sharp-soft at Dante’s ear or scraping tender over Dante’s wrist. Dante licks along Vergil’s shoulder. Sucks lightly where it joins to his neck. Vergil looks at him with a soft hunger that could turn into something more so easily. Dante just has to angle his mouth into the right smirk, drop his voice into a moan around his brother’s name, and Vergil would accept the invitation, moving forward, pressing Dante up against the wall and—

But not tonight. Tonight, it's enough to drown a luxurious drowning in Vergil’s velvet mouth ‘til Dante’s sweetly dizzy and tender-lipped and pressing harder into the heat of his brother’s body because the water has turned cold at last. 

He opens his eyes with the slowness of coming out of a haze and gazes, half-lidded, at the clean geometry of his brother's face. “Worst shower ever,” Dante murmurs. 

“It is,” Vergil agrees. His hair is flat against his forehead from the weight of water, his skin cream and pink under the soft silver of his stubble. His mouth curves slightly. “We should do it again.” 

“We should absolutely do it again,” Dante says, a swoop in his belly at Vergil’s small smile, its secret warmth like a season of summer that only Dante knows exists. He’s helpless against it, chest drawing tight, something heaving large enough inside to press hard against his ribcage, leave behind a tender bruise. 

Dante can't put a name to it, the thing flooding each compartment of his chest. He doesn’t think there is one, anyway, a word adequate enough to encapsulate the multitudes Vergil makes him feel, neatly contain what he and Vergil become together. It's a new kind of organ; its heartbeat can only be known and felt by them. 

Dante does what he _ can _do instead, now and for the rest of their lives: he leans in and he presses his mouth to Vergil's again, kissing that summer-warm smile, falling back into its perfect, painless heat. 


End file.
